Life Without Fred
by Meamit
Summary: Fred always said that it was their responsibility to remind people how to laugh. This was the first time that George could understand why some people forgot. The six part story of George and Angelina.
1. Chapter 1

On the day following the Battle of Hogwarts, everyone left standing seemed to walk about in a permanent state of shock. People spoke in whispers and heavy sighs punctuated their subdued conversations. Success was unlike anything they had imagined. There were no fireworks, banners or cheering crowds. There was only smoke and rubble and overwhelming grief. News of the dead had spread like wildfire across the castle and beyond, so that no Weasley could take more than ten steps without receiving condolences. Ginny was beyond listening. Ron had not let go of Hermione since the fighting stopped. Percy seemed to have aged a decade and could be spotted wandering through the ground floor in vain, as though he would find what he was looking for just around the next corner. In a desperate bid to stay busy and distracted, Charlie helped his old professors to assess damage in the castle. Bill and Fleur stayed by Mr. and Mrs. Weasley's side for most of the day, though Bill's eyes would search his surroundings every few minutes as he tried to keep tabs on his younger siblings.

As for George, his eyes stung permanently with tears of frustration and his face was gaunt. He had left the castle in search of any place in the grounds that would not remind him of his best friend and brother, but everywhere haunted him. The Quiddich pitch, the lake, the whomping willow, everything he set eyes on had a memory attached. Eventually he found himself walking alongside the glasshouses where he and Fred had hexed their first Slytherin.

He reached for the door and for a moment, his heart leapt at the sight of his twin's face on the other side. But Fred's expression suddenly mirrored the ecstasy of his own and with a sick feeling in his stomach, George realised that he had been fooled by his reflection.

A noise in the glasshouse broke through his devastated reverie and he walked inside to see someone standing at the other end of the narrow building, surrounded by plant pot shards and clumps of compost. As she turned and saw him, Angelina's breath hitched in her throat and her eyes welled up. She and George locked eyes, and when he took a step towards her, she began to shake her head almost imperceptibly as her tears fell hot and fast. Neither one could decide how to react to the other and they stood that way as the minutes dragged by, until she closed her eyes and crumpled to the floor. Her sobs turned into a low keening wail and it tore through George's heart. He clenched his fists and struggled to put one foot in front of the other until he reached her and sank to the floor. Angelina's tears didn't slow, but she allowed him to grasp her hand in his and then held it tightly.

George had no idea how long he sat there with her, on the dirt floor. Somehow, this felt more natural to him than anything else he'd done since the explosion. He couldn't understand why everyone else was eating and talking and cleaning – what was the point? His life was over without ending and all he could remember was the goodness of Fred. Every positive thing in his life was linked to Fred. Every future plan he'd dreamed was tied up in Fred. For the first time in his life, George was alone and he couldn't bear it.

After a while, their wails became ragged breaths. Dusk penetrated the misted glass roof and something in George made him stand up. He tugged Angelina's arm until she rose too. Climbing over the debris on the floor, they numbly walked back in the direction of the castle.

Just inside the Entrance Hall, they stopped. There was no sound; most people had drifted off to find somewhere to lay their heads until morning. They would go their separate ways now, the Weasleys were staying in rooms near the Hospital Wing for the night and Angelina was headed to Gryffindor Tower. George inhaled deeply and let go of the hand he was still clenching. As he stepped away, Angelina opened her mouth as if to speak, but no words came and she just shook her head helplessly.

He completely understood. Words were useless.


	2. Chapter 2

The wizarding world returned to Business As Usual much faster than George expected. At first, he tried to keep up and interact with other people, but they all wanted to know how he was doing and he didn't have a clue. He was numb, nothing penetrated. And because he had no answers, George would lash out at those who asked. His loneliness and desperation made scapegoats of everyone who tried to sympathise. Nobody could manage to say the right thing. Someone likened his loss to losing a limb and George snapped. The logical part of his brain knew that they meant losing an integral part of himself, but it was a pathetic comparison. He would have given all his limbs to have Fred back. An arm or a leg could never compete.

Even amongst his peers, George felt distanced. Their determined optimism was too much for him. All they could talk of was building a better, Voldemort-free world. How could they expect him to like that version of life better? He refused to see anyone, other than his parents and very occasionally, Ginny.

He hated – oh how he _HATED_ – that there was nothing he could do to get back to Before. All he had were memories and they would fade, he knew. The pain would be there for life, but the little details of happier times would start to slip away a bit more each day. He spent his daylight hours in bed, tormenting himself with What Ifs, and most of his nights pacing in an attempt to stave off the nightmares. As he walked, his mind would always return to that night, in the greenhouses. Angelina's pain had been as raw as his own. It made him feel that he wasn't quite losing his mind and for that reason, he began to subconsciously seek her out.

For months after Fred's death, George and Angelina would meet for lunch and say nothing. They would ignore the food on their plates and sit across from each other, hungrily drinking in the sorrowful expression across the table. George felt greedy to see her despair because it justified his own. When she was there, he didn't feel as though he was forced to move on. Everything was fresh and it was so reassuring to feel something. Anything. It hit him like a ton of bricks but it was familiar and he seized at it.

In fact, George became so distracted by his own pain that he didn't notice the dark circles under Angelina's eyes, the way her hands shook slightly or the fact that every time she sat down in front of him, she was thinner than before. She never smiled. When George appeared each day, in the little alleyway outside the apothecary where she worked, she felt powerless to say no, to stay away. She wanted to tell him, to apologise, to let go of the crushing guilt. But the words escaped her, so she sat with him. She avoided her family. She lay awake at night. She cried.

Until one day, when George came to walk her to lunch, someone else spoke for her.

"No."

A diminutive woman with huge dark eyes stepped in front of her daughter and held up her hands.

"She can't do this anymore. No."

George's gaze flickered to Angelina's face and frowned. "Angie?"

"Can't you see?" Her mother prodded his chest with one finger. "She's losing herself and so are you. This has to stop."

Angelina put her hands to her face and leaned against the wall weakly. "I'm sorry, George. I'm so sorry."

"Angie – what are you talking about?" His voice rasped and he winced at the sound of it.

"George, you have to leave her alone –" Mrs. Johnson moved her head to try and intercept the distressed look he was sending her daughter.

"Mum, I have to – to – I have to tell him something first."

"Three minutes."

"Three minutes," Angelina agreed. She watched as her mother withdrew and then she looked down at her hands. "George… I tried – I _tried_ to tell you – it's my fault! I was supposed to – but I left – I thought I heard… and I left! If I had just – just –"

"Angelina, stop. If this is about… Nothing is your fault. You're here. Everyone else is sorry from a distance but you're here." He tried to take her hand, but she pulled it to her chest and shook her head.

"You don't understand! I left my post. I was supposed to be sending on w-warnings and so that no one would be t-trapped without help but I heard Katie s-scream and I ran to the window and in those few m-minutes… He would have been prepared but I left. I left. I left!"

George's eyes were now widened in horror and he grabbed her shoulders. His voice was harsh, as he growled, "No! No Angie, _I_ left. Me. It was war and people were dying and _I_ still left him –"

"You were doing the job you were assigned, you couldn't have known –"

"I SHOULDN'T HAVE LEFT HIS SIDE FOR A SECOND!"

"… George, you didn't leave him. He chose to go. To fight. We all did."

His hands were clutching at her robes now and his forehead lowered against hers. In a voice cracked and pleading, he whispered, "I want my brother, Angie please… please, please I need my brother – I just – I just _need_ my brother… I need Fred. Please…"

She was stroking his neck now, her thumbs resting gently on his jaw. His tears felt hot against her skin and she murmured sadly, "I'm so sorry George. I would do anything to make you happy again. I'm sorry I can't give you what you want… I'm sorry I can't bring him back."

And then Mrs. Johnson returned and George was straightening and Angelina felt all the warmth inside fade as he stepped away from her. She took two steps in her mother's direction, but darted back to whisper to him.

"Don't disappear. I need you."

He said nothing, and she allowed herself to be pulled away.

"If he's still there," she heard her mother say, "If he's still there, he'll come back to you."

But later that night, the sound of George's pleading echoed in her mind and woke her from her dreams. She knew she wasn't cut out for war. Nobody was, but her horrors lingered in a way that made Katie nervous and Oliver flustered. She didn't experience the long spells of happiness that came with forgetting the details, or moving on. She couldn't, not when the two nicest people she'd ever met were broken and her understanding of the world had broken with them.


	3. Chapter 3

That evening, George was tormented. For once, by something other than the war. Her words wouldn't give him peace.

_Don't disappear. _

_I need you._

And later, his mind recalled,

_I would do anything to make you happy again. _

Why? Why did she need him? Why did she care? The answers eluded him, the questions consumed him and he slammed his fists against the table. Angelina's face swam in his memory every time he closed his eyes. She had looked different today. He knew objectively that she had looked different for some time now, but wasn't that a result of growing up? Of maturing and taking responsibility? Of fighting a war? He thought back to their school days and Angelina's perpetual smile. Her laughter used to light up the Common Room and he and Fred had had an unspoken challenge to see who could elicit that laugh most often.

He hadn't seen her laugh since a few weeks before the battle, when they'd all met up in the Leaky Cauldron and Katie and Oliver had announced their engagement. She'd been overjoyed, then. She sat on the arm of the squashed sofa he had claimed, clinked her beer bottle with his and whispered mischievously, '_poor Katie!'_ They'd laughed themselves silly and ignored the others' quizzical looks.

As if he'd been doused with cold water, he became aware of a horrible reality. Angelina was gone too. Angelina, who always knew which twin he was, even with his back turned. Angelina, who used to risk her neck a dozen times a term to get them away from the scene of a prank without being caught. His Angelina, whom he should have been protecting. How could he have missed it?

This was the result of wallowing in his grief. This was the result of shutting people out and trying to stop time. He had to fix it. With his head in his hands, he tried to imagine what Fred would do in this situation. Prank after prank came to mind, witty one-liners designed to force even the most reluctant to smile. But something felt wrong about that. He wanted to give her a reason to smile all the time, not just when faced with his silliness. He stayed awake until the early hours of the morning, trying to come up with an idea.

The following day, sleep deprived and frustrated, he wandered into the shop front while he continued to plan. The windows were covered and the air was stale. Everything inside was covered in a thick layer of dust. He ran a hand through his hair and tried not to think about how much Fred would shout if he knew that everything they'd worked for was lying forgotten. Absentmindedly, he sent a few housekeeping spells through the shop. He couldn't go to see Angelina until he knew what he wanted to say.

For the rest of the week, George stayed inside his apartment, or wandered through the empty shop. He picked up a product every now and then, thinking about the evenings they had spent designing it and getting it ready for sale. Life had seemed so easy then. Fred always said that it was their responsibility to remind people how to laugh. This was the first time that George could understand why some people forgot.

Why Fred and not him? Fred had been outgoing. He had been charming and witty and confident. He could flirt with any woman he walked up to and he had been the one to convince the owner of No. 93 to part with his property. Fred could have done anything he set his mind to and without his ambitious ideas, George couldn't help feeling a little bit lost.


	4. Chapter 4

After ten days, he walked out into the bright Autumnal sunlight and wandered through Diagon Alley in the direction of the apothecary Angelina worked in. It wasn't a typical apothecary, per se. It didn't supply any premade potions, nor the basic supplies that students used. Specialising instead in rare and unusual ingredients, the shop was used by Potion Masters rather than ordinary wizards. For that reason, the proprietor could not afford a front window on the main shopping street. Instead, it was located down a small, winding path behind Madame Malkin's.

George walked within several feet of the grimy window and promptly turned around. _What could he possibly say to make it up to her?_ he wondered and started to walk away. _But wouldn't it be worse to never speak to her again?_ Argued his heart, making him look back. _What if more protective relations are in there?_ the self-preserving part of his brain pointed out. On his forth spin, the decision was made for him, because she was there. Standing in the lane, shielding her eyes from the light and watching him.

"I thought you weren't coming back," she said, emotionlessly.

"I was scared your mum might be here," he answered, not quite honestly. But her lips twitched with the ghost of a smile.

"I don't know if – maybe we should… do you want to go for a walk?" she finished, her original thought abandoned.

"Yeah," he agreed. "Yeah, alright."

They walked away from the main street and down the quiet lane, which had dandelions growing in patches and doors leading into rundown buildings every so often. Eventually, the path opened into an empty lot, filled with weeds and old wooden crates. Angelina perched on one of the latter and gazed at George.

"I haven't stopped thinking about what you said." Her voice was low, but every inch of him was listening for it and he caught her words. "We're both a bit haunted, aren't we?"

"I'm sorry, Angie." He knew he was launching right into his rehearsed speech but he couldn't stop himself. "I can't believe that I didn't see what I was doing to you. If I had just stopped focusing on myself all that time, maybe I could have –"

"Stop it, George. I've been grieving too. It isn't anything you've been 'doing' to me." She sighed and rubbed her forehead slightly. "I _wanted_ to be around you. I liked knowing that you were still here."

"Not much of a consolation prize, am I?" he muttered.

"You're alive," her voice cracked as she said this. "I don't know if you can call it a prize, but I'm happy that you're here."

George weighed the likelihood of sounding like an idiot with the chance of finding out what her previous whispers had meant. "I've been thinking about what you said before too," he blurted. "What – what do you need me for?"

He desperately wanted to ask her why on earth she'd want to 'do anything' to make him happy, but he couldn't find the nerve.

"I don't know," she mumbled, sounding very unlike herself. "I just – I just – oh, this is going to sound so stupid! – I just feel _warmer_ when you're around. I feel things… other than sadness."

"Warmer?" he echoed. It sounded strange to say it out loud, but he thought he knew the feeling.

"I was so sure, before. I had my whole life figured out. I thought we'd always have each other, the six of us. Seven, if you include Ollie. But most of all, I thought I'd always have you two." She took a deep breath and continued, "And I know it's an awful thing to admit, but while we were getting ready to fight, that's all I was thinking about. Not Lee or Alicia or Katie or Oliver… Just you two."

A tear slipped down her cheek and George brushed it away. He wasn't fully expecting this. Angelina was amazing, but he knew he'd spent most of the battle worrying about his family and Harry and everything that might go wrong. To think she'd been _that_ worried about him… _You and Fred_, his brain reminded him.

"That's not awful. And I understand the 'warmer' thing," he offered. "It's probably because I remind you of Fred."

"No," she shook her head slightly, worrying her bottom lip with her teeth. "You made me feel that _before _as well. Fred didn't."

He just blinked at her.

"That sounds terrible too! It's not that I didn't love Fred, but he was all about entertaining the crowd and making everyone happy. You always took the time to make sure _I_ was happy."

That… was true, he realised. He always used to know how she was feeling. It was like second nature for him to read her expression. At least, until after the battle. He felt so bad for not seeing how much her grief was hurting her.

"You're so thin," he declared, before he could bite his tongue. She looked at him, apprehensive.

"I know," she eventually replied. "Mum keeps telling me that too. But I don't have an appetite. For anything, really." She shrugged at him. "You haven't been eating or working properly either."

"Don't you like your job?" he asked, curiously. Remembering how passionate she had been about her dream career in Hogwarts, he realised that he wanted to see her enthusiastic like that again.

"It's not bad, but it's not what I want to do for life," she told him. "Mum's friend runs the shop, that's why I'm here."

"So you still–? But I thought you had changed your mind about Medi-Potions?" In the back of his mind, he felt as though he should know this already. Why hadn't he asked her recently?

"I tried to," she said softly, "but I guess it's in my bones."

He shook his head. "I feel like I've been Stupified for months. I should have been there to talk to you about this."

"S'alright."

"No it's not." In a last ditch attempt to see that spark again, he waited until he caught her eyes and asked, "Would you be interested in helping me with a few potions? I know they're not medicinal, but if I'm going to keep Fred's dream alive, I need to get the shop ready to reopen." It was a spur of the moment decision, but part of him had always known that he could never sell the business. He had to try. For Fred.

From the look on Angelina's face, that was definitely not what she expected. Her eyes widened and she nodded, as though to herself. "You're going to –? Yes. Yes! I'll help you, George."

"I'm in the apartment most days, so just call over when you're free," he said.

Her eyes never left his. "I'll be there tomorrow."


	5. Chapter 5

She agreed! George wasn't sure why he was so pleased by her response. Probably because it would give him a chance to make things up to her, he reasoned. On his way back to his apartment, George stopped to buy tea and enough food to make sandwiches. He hadn't liked hearing her talk about life with such disinterest. What was she thinking, letting herself give up like that? She deserved to get her apprenticeship and feel excited about it. He felt a sudden, overwhelming urge to make sure she was eating and sleeping and doing what she loved from now on.

It was only hours later that he panicked, as he sat in the dark and thought about what the morning would bring. It was easy to feel brave when she was there, but once he was alone his courage began to fail. The idea of trying to go on with the shop as if nothing has changed – it would feel like taking all the credit for their success. How could he ever laugh without the sting of guilt cutting it short? _Because Fred would go mental if he knew two lives were ruined after that explosion, rather than one_, a traitorous part of his mind sensibly pointed out. _Three, if you count Angelina_.

Angelina. Angelina would be here in the morning. George didn't know if he had a clean shirt, let alone any idea what products he planned to involve her in. Standing up stiffly, he flung cleaning spells around the kitchen and living room until his mind protested and he fell into bed.

The next morning, Angelina arrived at the front door of No. 93 at precisely nine o'clock. George was already inside moving boxes, and she appraised him from the doorway for several moments. He looked so different. Within the first week of Life Without Fred, George had cut his hair quite short – anything to make his reflection hurt less. His broad frame seemed thinner and his face showed signs of sleepless nights. Even so, his blue eyes were determined this morning and to her, he was still as tall and strong and capable as ever.

She stood, lost in a memory of the twins' last night in Hogwarts. She'd had no idea that they were going to declare war on Umbridge the next day, of course. All she knew was that, after studying Transfiguration together for most of the evening, George had picked her up and hugged her for almost five minutes before they went to their dormitories. It had seemed a bit exuberant at the time, but that was to be expected with the twins. After all, the next morning, Fred has thrown Alicia over his shoulder and run around the second floor with her before Charms and there had been no logical reason for that. So she really didn't realise what the hug meant until she witnessed their impromptu firework display later on and saw him wink at her. When she got back to her dormitory, three thick rolls of parchment lay on her bed containing all of the NEWTS Transfiguration notes she could possibly need for the rest of the year. Alicia and Katie had spent the night discussing the twins' shocking departure while Angelina lay staring up at the curtains on her bed, trying not to feel abandoned.

George spotted her after a minute and pulled her inside, locking the door behind them.

"Not quite ready for customers yet," he said, by way of explanation.

She looked up at him and he gazed back. A minute passed. "So," she said, to fill the silence. "Where shall we start, then? How about whipping up some Canary Cream filling?"

He felt like a bit of an idiot for not having a plan and seized on her idea, "Yeah, alright."

Before he could register what she was doing and stop her, she had taken his hand and pulled him behind the counter and down the corridor, to a door emblazoned with the sign 'Mischief Management Office – Non-Weasleys Beware.' She released the handle and the door swung open for the first time in months. Dust hung in the air and soft yellow light fell across the worktables. Angelina stepped inside but George swayed on the threshold, feeling his blood turn to ice as he looked at the last project they'd worked on together. The pieces were still sitting on the counter, with his notes to one side. All of a sudden, he felt as though they'd only stopped working for a break, as though any minute now, Fred would walk up behind him and brush past excitedly, with some brilliant idea for a new bestseller.

She must have caught the look of panic in his eyes, because she took both of his hands in her own and tugged. He stepped into the room and the wave of nostalgia washed over him and was gone. Now that he was closer, he could see the cobwebs on the shelves and the boxes that proved nobody had been there recently. _Get it together, you stupid git_, he told himself.

Aloud, he said, "Right, um… there are a couple of new projects that needed perfecting, but I think we should make a few batches of the classics first. Skiving Snackboxes, that sort of thing."

"Where are your recipes?" Angelina asked, looking around.

George went to the far wall to tap a sequence of bricks and when they slid apart, he pulled several Witch Weekly magazines from inside. He transfigured them back into folders with a quick flick of his wand and handed them to her. Each product was carefully indexed with a list of ingredients and a step-by-step guide to the spells and potions required.

"George, this is amazing," she breathed. "Did you make all these notes?"

"Yeah," he said, surprised by the impressed tone in her voice. "Fred was always coming up with new ideas in the middle of the night, so I had to keep track or we'd forget."

Selecting one folder, she took the neat parchment sheets out and spread them across the table. "These are really brilliant, the ingredient ratio options are such a good idea! Come on then, Professor Weasley, aren't you going to show me the ropes?"

He has been watching her face as she flicked through his work and wasn't prepared for that question. In response to her raised eyebrow, he ran a hand across his short hair and looked around. "Well, we're going to need copper cauldrons to start with…"


	6. Chapter 6

For weeks, Angelina would arrive in the morning on her days off or in the evenings after work to help George prepare the stock needed to reopen. Although they often worked in silence, there was very little of the gloomy atmosphere that had dominated their previous lunches. Sometimes she would put on the radio and sway slightly to the music. Sometimes he would insist on taking a break to read the sports section together and see what ridiculous new Quidditch theory Oliver was spouting to the press. They always stood side by side when working, leaning over his precise notes and occasionally reaching for the same ingredient. It was tranquil and _warm_, like she'd said. He couldn't help feeling alive when she was around.

One afternoon as they worked, George imagined Fred there, rolling his eyes as their hands touched and they tried not to react. He decided Fred would've pulled up a chair and made some witty observation about it, wriggling his eyebrows with a look that blatantly asked what they were doing sneaking around without him. The thought made George laugh – a quick, unpreventable laugh that caused him to drop the ladle he was holding.

Angelina looked up at him, confused but with a grin on her face. "What?"

"Nothing," he shook his head. "Just thinking about some advice I got a while back... We've been at this for over six weeks now, I think you deserve a night off."

"Oh no, it's alright, I like –"

"I'm not taking no for an answer, Angie," he pressed, taking her hand. "We could call up the gang and go dancing, to that place you used to like. Or get ice cream and go for a walk or… anything. We could do anything."

Looking down at his fingers covering hers, she bit her lip to control her smile, "A walk would be nice. And… maybe we could – we could still go dancing another night? When I have time to find a dress?"

"Another night is fine," he agreed. Then, despite knowing Fred would've been banging his head against a brick wall by this stage, he asked awkwardly, "D'you mean, as a… date?"

"Is that what you meant?" Her cheeks were slightly flushed and he took that as a good sign.

"Er, yes?"

"Oh, me too!" Mortified, she tried to lower her voice a bit. "I mean… that sounds good."

"Great, good…" Letting out a breath he hadn't realised he was holding, he grinned and asked, "Will we go for that walk now though? Since this has to sit for a few hours anyway."

"Sure, I'll just grab my bag."

She slung it over one shoulder and they headed to the front of the shop, both joyfully aware of their still clasped hands.

* * *

As the weeks turned into months, George and Angelina became even more inseparable. Angelina was there at the reopening of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, when George's brief speech about his twin and their hope to spread a little cheer was received with over five minutes of clapping from the gathered crowds. She stood beside him at the remembrance service that marked the first anniversary of the Final Defeat. She wrapped her arms around him when they finally told their friends about their tentative relationship. And eighteen months after that horrible night in the glasshouses, she held his hand tightly and announced to both families that they we're engaged and planning to marry quietly a month later.

Sometimes, they gave each other the strength to face the memories. Other times, they found ways to escape the past and spend a short while like any other couple. Now and then, old classmates would express surprise that the fun-loving pair they knew from school preferred to stay home with their new son. Both Angelina and George poured all of their love and energy into that little boy, their Fred. Almost a decade passed before they added a baby girl, just as adored, to their family. Both children would listen with rapt interest to bedtime stories of life in Hogwarts under Headmaster Dumbledore and all the wild pranks their parents were responsible for. And if, occasionally, a nightmare brought back all the pain of the war, or a particular time of year made the memories hard to bear, George and Angelina had each other to hold at night and smile to during the day.

Many years later, when George realized sadly that he had lived more days without his twin than with him, the painful discovery was tempered by his twenty-two year old son's joyful announcement. Freddie bounded into his parents' home with his pretty wife to announce the impending arrival of the next Weasley generation.

"Everyone, I've got news!" he declared, both hands resting on the newest Mrs. Weasley's shoulders. "Maggie's pregnant!"

Angelina leapt to hug them both and Roxanne danced with excitement, "Really? Really Freddie?! This is so cool, I'm going to be the only auntie in second year, I bet!"

After all of the congratulations were finished, Fred looked at his father. "Dad," he said more quietly than before. "We found out at Mungo's, it's... it's twins. Twin boys."

Raising both eyebrows, George finally said, "Oh Fred, I can't believe you'd do this to us - to your mother!"

Angelina glanced at her husband quickly, reaching out to squeeze his hand, but she needn't have worried. A broad grin spread across his face as he complained,

"Do we _honestly _look old enough to be grandparents to you?!"

Pulling Fred into a tight hug, George could have sworn that in that instant, he saw a little bit of his brother in his son's sparkling eyes.


End file.
